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The Story of Kitty Farrell (Part 1)

Kitty Farrell came into my life in the summer of 2009. She was one of a small litter of kittens,  born to a stray I called  Mom Cat.  Mom Cat  had multiple litters over the years. The first time I saw Kitty was with Mom Cat on a very rainy night. Mom cat was leading Kitty and a black kitten across the alley in the rain, from between a garage and fence. Kitty was grey, with a white patch on her chest, just like Mom Cat.  She began coming  into my yard and I would feed her. I really couldn't resist. She was adorable! I knew she was feral but needed help and deserved a chance to live. As she grew I realized that I could neither take her in nor could I have her put down. I also didn't want to see her live the life her mom cat had lived; having litters every year and being rejected and homeless, with most of her kittens disappearing.  I began researching the option of Trap, Neuter, Release (or Return), otherwise known as TNR.
With some trepidation, I trapped her and took her to the clinic for her neutering. I was asked her name. I had never even thought to give her a name.  Without a name she was simply a kitten I was looking after; another nameless kitten in a sea of other nameless cats in the neighborhood,   Unable to come up anything clever at the spur of the moment, she became simply "kitty".  It was only later that I appended the last name "Farrell". It made me laugh to think she was related to Perry Farrell (of Jane's Addiction and Lollapalooza fame) . Of course, it's only funny if you pronounce "feral" as fair-ell and not fear-ell.
Over the next few years, Kitty greeted me most every morning, or in the evening after I parked my car in the garage. Each winter she managed to survive, all the while ignoring the shelters that I built  for her.   Someone else in the neighborhood must have been looking after her as well.  She wasn't the only feral in the neighborhood.  Another cat, that I called scruffy Cat, was a big black tom cat, not especially fond of human interaction. Had TNR done on  Scruffy as well. 
Kitty came to trust me over time. I have to think someone else helped her see that humans were not all dangerous.  She eventually allowed me to scratch her behind her ears or she would rub up against my calves and ankles. Sometimes she'd realize I was touching her and she'd back off with a little start!  I never knew where she stayed or who else was helping her but I eventually expected to see her every morning after calling, "kitty, KITTY!". I was able to take some wonderful photos of her. For me, having Kitty around gave me the pleasure and benefit of having a dear animal friend to care for, at a time  that I was unable to care for pets in my home.
( to be continued )

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She once was lost, now she's found...

I promised Part II of the Kitty Farrell story, but we must fast-forward to Part III. She'd been MIA for a few weeks, and then she came around one morning.  I was ecstatic to see her, until I got close enough to get a good look at her.  Her back leg was dragging.  Didn't know how to respond but thought, "a BOX!  a BLANKET! have to catch her!".  By the time I had gotten those things together, she had limped away. I borrowed traps, tried to catch her for almost 2 weeks, with no sightings at all.  I did catch a Tom Cat, and had him TNR'ed. Installing a day/night "wildlife cam" revealed some cats with collars having a stroll, along with a rat or two, but no sign of Kitty.  A response to an "injured cat" posting on a local neighborhood group resulted in a response from a woman claiming she had seen the cat, and that she looked fine.  Didn't believe that assessment, hoped for more location info from this person, but they also noted ...

My momma said...

As I get older, I find I often have my mother's words coming out of my mouth, or springing to mind. Time to document these before they're lost to the next generation! When I was being an incorrigible little pip: "I'll break your arms and legs, and beat you over the head with them!" "I'll hang you up in the closet by your toenails!" Now I know this sounds as if mom had a sadistic streak, but she actually only rarely resorted to corporal punishments of any kind at all. The effect was mostly cartoonish, in the ridiculousness and impossibility of the threats. Mom was also a big fan of the "I'm going to count to three..." school of discipline. Worked like a charm, at least til I was fast enough to out run her!